


Photo Shoot

by AsgardianAngel



Category: Marvel Avengers
Genre: F/M, Hawkeye x Reader; Clint Barton x Reader; Clint x Reader; Avengers Hawkeye; Clint Barton romance;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3813490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngel/pseuds/AsgardianAngel





	Photo Shoot

Your heart skipped a beat. You were chosen to photograph the infamous S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, Clint Barton, for an international magazine. A member of the Stark security team escorted you to the gym/physical training floor of Stark Tower. Once he located Agent Barton, he left you to your work. 

The agent was skipping rope and made it look effortless. He wore black sweats, but no shirt. He finished and walked towards you as you tended to your camera equipment. He held his hand out as he introduced himself, although he made the act look painful. "I'm Clint Barton. How long is this going to take?"

Rumours had him pegged as cocky, but not "Tony Stark cocky"; strong, but not "Thor strong", and smug, which was his trait alone. "As long as you want it to take, provided I get the pictures I want." You stood with your camera, ready to start shooting. "I'm _______, and you're pleased to meet me." You loved that line. It always surprised the subjects of your photo shoots and set the tone for the type of session you wanted.

"I am, am I? I'll be the judge of that." He didn't seem to appreciate not having his hand shaken. "Let's get at it, then. I want to go home." Icy. You made a mental note to add 'icy' to the description list. 

"Sounds like a plan. I need to get shots of you there, too; for that personal vibe." You focused on him as he stepped up to the punching bag. 

"Great," he muttered. "No problem," he said louder. He began to punch at the heavy bag and you began to take pictures. Observing an imaginary circle to stay out of, you moved around him. You were known for taking photos from interesting angles and this shoot would be no different. 

"Stop for a second," you ordered. He caught the swinging bag and looked at you, clearly pissed off that his rhythm had been interrupted. You moved to the opposite side of the bag and lay down on the floor beneath it. 

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I have a specific shot in mind and this is the only spot I can get it." Your head was directly below the bag. "Hold still while I focus." Clint took a deep breath in annoyance. "OK, I'm ready. Give it all you got, Tiger." Another trick, especially with subjects rather full of themselves. Call them 'Tiger' and they lose a little composure. Once he was into rhythm again, the clicks from your camera joined in. 

"I can't concentrate with you down there." He walked away from the swinging bag, leaving you to roll over in order to be able to get up without getting knocked over. Touchy. Definitely touchy. 

"You'll thank me for that later." You gave as good as you got. He worked out at one last station and you focused on his face, capturing his determination. What the viewer wouldn't know is that he was determined to get this shoot over with, not bench-pressing a stunning weight. An image popped into your head. You sat down as close as you could, lining up with his head. Right before he began the next rep, you told him to look at you. You held your finger down on the shutter release and let it take multiple shots. He finished the rep and sat up. 

"That one might be interesting," he commented and you smiled. 

"I think so."

"I'm going to shower and head home. If you still need that ride, be ready in five minutes." You nodded and he left for the change room.

****** 

The drive to his house was done in awkward silence. Any comment you made was met with a grunt, but you still understood if he agreed with you or not. You studied his profile until he scowled at you. 'He'd be much more attractive if let he a smile break his face.' 

He pulled into the driveway, parked the car and got out. He took three steps towards the front door and then stopped. He paused for a second and came back to your side of the car and opened the door. He did not wait for you to get out, however. You chuckled. 'Did not see that coming,' you thought to yourself.

You followed him into his house after collecting your camera bag from the back seat. The outside appearance did not match the inside, which was surprisingly large and clean. He threw his keys on the table and walked to the stainless steel fridge. "Beer?" he offered.

"Sure, but when I'm done."

"Uh - no. When you are done, you are leaving." He twisted the caps off and handed you a bottle. 

"But it will be SO hard to go, thanks to your magnetic personality." You opened the camera bag and prepared for the home shots. 

Clint took a long drink of his beer and set the bottle down. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled. "Look, I'm just not comfortable around some women."

"SOME women?" You took a couple of test pictures and checked them for lighting.

"Yeah, the pretty ones." You looked up at him and saw the red in his cheeks. Surprisingly, you found that adorable and your heart skipped a beat.

"Hmm. Thanks. I'm harmless, though. Nothing to be afraid of. I need to capture the ordinary Clint Barton, the off-duty Clint Barton. What would you normally do now?" You focused the camera on his face and then tracked him as he moved from one room to the next. 

"Well, if I was with a pretty girl, I'd take her to my room and f*** all night." Your camera was now taking photos of the floor. 

"Uh, OK. And if this was not one of THose nights, what would you do?" Your throat was suddenly dry. You casually returned to the kitchen, picked up your beer, and took a long drink. 

"But it is. Now there's a photo op not just anyone gets." He returned to the fridge, got a second beer, twisted its cap off, and threw it over his shoulder into the sink as he slowly walked away. "Click, click," he said. Arrogant. Add 'arrogant' to that long list. 

You had a deadline to meet. 'He just needs to flex his authoritative muscles. I'm in his domain; and he's going to make that work in his favour. Humour him for a while and get the shots they pay you for.' You brought your camera up to your eye as you turned to walk into his room. The shooting began with your first step in. 

This was no little girls' room, that's for damn sure. Where Barton revealed glimpses of himself through his abrupt comments, this room blatantly stated who he was. Strong, clean lines; no curves. Black polished floor, metal bed frame, dark walls. He stood in the middle of it all, his back to you, and taking off his clothes like he was alone. When he heard you moving behind him and the clicks of the camera, he nodded with a smirk, and continued to undress. He opened his belt and let his pants fall to the ground, waiting to hear your reaction to his highly-toned body. When he was met with only the sounds of your camera, he turned around, disappointment punching him in the gut. You sat on your haunches, trying to line up for a shot of, well, NOT of him.

"Hey! I'm over here."

"Yes, you are, but I need more than just your pretty face for the layout. There is more to a person than their body and conversation skills, or lack thereof. I've got what I need from here. Perhaps you can pretend to relax in another part of the house?"

He was behind you when you stood to leave the room. "I'll give you all you need, but you're not finished in this room." 

"You know my job better than I do?"

"Apparently. If you want me relaxed, relax me." He took the camera from you hand and set it on a dresser. "I looked down your shirt when you were under the punching bag." Sure, NOW he smiled. "You were getting hot. Ask me how I know," he growled in your ear. His breath on your neck made you shiver. 

"I like my job," you replied. His shower had been quick, but he didn't skimp on the cleaning. His hair smelled good. Hell, HE smelled good. "It's rather common for photographers to become aroused when they are enjoying a shoot." 

"I call bullshit!" He turned you around and brought his lips swiftly and accurately down on yours. Apparently the only softness in this room was his lips. He expertly persuaded you to open yours and his tongue slipped inside to find yours, to taste yours. You were unaware that his hands were under your shirt and that he had unhooked your bra. You had never been kissed quite like this before and he knew it. 

He broke the kiss and your head spun. He made short work of removing your clothes and nudging you backwards with his hlps, lips and everything in between. He grabbed the covers and threw them back from the large bed. With his index finger, he gently pushed the spot between your breasts until your knees buckled and you sat on the bed. The second soft thing in this room.

"I've seen your work. It's good. I told the magazine editor I wouldn't give them so much as a grade school photo if you were not the one taking the pictures. You're the one I wanted, and here you are." He spread your legs apart with his knee and kissed you, supporting your back with one hand as he lay you back on the bed. Then he straddled your hips and lifted you to place you in the centre of the bed. 

"Maybe your work arouses you, but I know what I saw. I'd say you got double the pleasure; you're welcome."

"Stark give you lessons in arrogance?" was all you could muster, your senses tuned into his arousal, your own growing intense. 

"HELL, NO! But, he did come to me for pointers on giving a woman perfect pleasure." He left you no opportunity to reply. He kissed you deeply, his hand all over your body wherever he could reach, feel, squeeze, massage and stroke. He continued his masterful assault on your senses until you were moaning and pleading for more. 

He rose up onto his knees. With the sexiest grin you'd ever seen on a man, he gently picked up your ankles and rest them on his shoulders. Then he lifted your bottom and positioned himself, pausing like a cat waiting to pounce. He saw the raw desire in your eyes and interpreted that as victory. 

He forced himself to enter you slowly, but once he was in, he gave you everything he had. He was not satisfied until he made you grunt with his thrusting. He didn't need to hear that from a woman to get off, but it certainly didn't hurt. What he didn't expect was to be making the same sounds. He was proud of his self-control, but he had very little at the moment. Throwing caution to the wind, Clint allowed himself to let go of the need to control and worked with you to settle into a frantic rhythm. You slid your ankles from his shoulders to cross them above his bottom. 

"Do it," you urged and pleaded. "Just do it; give it to me. Give it all to me." For the first time today, he complied without comment.

****** 

The key pictures you had taken that day received alot of attention. The photo that made headlines in photo journalism circles was one taken from beneath the punching bag. You caught the instant his fist began to indent the bag and captured the raw energy he was delivering through his hands. 

Two days after the magazine was released, you found a case of beer with a bow on it. The card attached read "You were right. I am pleased to meet you. -C" There was a telephone number, the name of a restaurant, a date and a time.


End file.
